


The Science of Love

by sherly_cues



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, 一週間フレンズ。 | Isshuukan Friends. | One Week Friends
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Amnesia, Bullying, But lots of fluff to make up for it, Crossover, Drug Use, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Japan, John is Yuuki Hase, M/M, Mutual Pining, No Smut, POV John Watson, Pining John, Pining Sherlock, Sherlock is Kaori Fujimiya, Slow Burn, Sorry guys, Teenlock, anime!lock, teen!lock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2019-11-01
Packaged: 2020-08-10 16:35:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20138563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherly_cues/pseuds/sherly_cues
Summary: “[You will not believe me when I say that…every week, I lose all memories of my friends.]”John Watson, an average Japanese high school student, decides to befriend the mysterious Sherlock Holmes, who always sits alone at his desk. What he doesn’t know is that he has a rather odd case of amnesia—one that doesn’t seem to have a medical diagnosis. Despite Sherlock’s emotional barriers, a friendship begins to bud between them, but John isn’t sure anymore if that’s where he wants it to end.





	1. Prologue

Sherlock Holmes always sat alone. John was determined to become his friend.  
  
If he had told any of his classmates, they would have said "You obviously haven't met him" and "You don't know what you're getting into."  
  
They would have told him "He's antisocial" and "He's a freak" and "Do you know who you're talking about?"  
  
But John knew exactly who he was talking about.  
  
Sherlock Holmes was brilliant, amazing, fantastic. He was clever, cleverer than anyone John had ever known, on a different plane of existence. John had watched him in class, spouting off math equations or finishing his tests in 5 minutes, all with a bored expression on his face. The lust for danger rolled off of him in waves. John could never look away.  
  
Sherlock was a tactless, insufferable git, that John knew, and he didn't change for his classmates or teachers or even his family.  
  
So when John declared, "I want to be friends with you!" in the empty school hallway, he wasn't all that surprised by Sherlock's response.  
  
"Dull," was all he said, averting his icy gaze to the floor and making to walk away. Yet a pang of hope tugged on John's heart, urging him to persist. He grabbed Sherlock's sleeve.  
  
"I think you're brilliant," he insisted, "and I'd like to get to know you better."  
  
Something flashed in Sherlock's eyes as he gazed at John's fingers clutching his sleeve, something lonely and sad, but it disappeared just as quickly as he tugged his arm away and shuffled down the hallway. His reply echoed off the walls.  
  
"I don't have friends."


	2. I

That day had begun with the blare of an alarm.  
  
This was no different from every other day so far in John Watson’s mundane high school life.  
  
He folded up his temporary futon like he always did, toasted the usual bread slice, slathering it with jam, and brushed his teeth, dressed in his uniform, and grabbed his school bag before sweeping out the door.  
  
Yet the day before had sent his ordinary life reeling, he recalled, as he gazed at the sprawling landscapes of Japan outside the train windows.  
  
Yesterday, on a whim, John had talked to Sherlock Holmes. He had even asked him to be his friend. Until now, John had silently admired Sherlock from afar, knowing that he wouldn’t be spared from the rejection that Sherlock gave everybody else. John hadn’t even planned to approach him yesterday, only realizing that he had simply waltzed up to the guy when he became the target of those piercing icicle eyes.  
  
There was something beyond that cold rejection. It had hurt, but John wasn’t ready to give up just yet. He wanted to approach Sherlock again, perhaps at his club—The Mystery Solving Club—which happened to be in desperate need of new members. Maybe getting in his good graces would help John figure out why Sherlock insisted on pushing others away.  
  
When the doors opened to the station near his school, John walked off and fell into step with the other uniform-clad students towards the school’s entrance. Soon he felt a playful slap on his back and an arm slung around his shoulders.  
  
“Morning, Watson!” came the enthusiastic greeting of one of his rugby mates as they appeared beside him.  
  
He grinned at them. “Hey, guys!”  
  
They chatted about after-school practice and cute girls before changing shoes at the lockers and eventually parting ways to their respective classrooms. As John walked to his desk, he passed by various classmates who greeted him cheerfully or smiled at him. He sat at his desk and began arranging his things, his gaze eventually wandering to Sherlock, who was alone at his desk and listlessly staring out the window. Today was John’s lucky day, then, since Sherlock rarely attended class, strolling in only to fulfill attendance requirements. One of the perks of being the class genius.  
  
With no after-school rugby practice, John was left impatiently buzzing in his seat in anticipation for classes to end, ever so often glancing at Sherlock, who looked bored out of his mind.  
  
Once lunch came around, John made a trip to the school cafeteria, which thrummed with impatient students who had either forgotten or not bothered to pack a boxed lunch. He wove his way through the crowd and bought some cheap melon bread, then quickly worked his way through the bread until he reached the classroom, disappointed to find Sherlock’s seat once again mysteriously empty.  
  
Classes flew by, and instead of leaving school when they finished, John found himself facing the door to the clubroom of the Mystery-Solving Club, taking a few moments to bring himself to turn the doorknob. He opened the door and hesitantly peered inside.  
  
The room was cramped, filled with a clutter of files and science equipment, the worn walls mangled with various punctures, tears, and roughly painted-on smiley faces. It practically screamed, “Sherlock!” The face that greeted him was not Sherlock’s, though, but the familiar face of Greg Lestrade, another member of the rugby team.  
  
Lestrade, seemingly in the middle of packing up to leave, stopped what he was doing and met John’s gaze, a surprised look on his face. “Watson-san?”  
  
John gave Lestrade a friendly smile. “Lestrade-san, right?”  
  
“Yeah, that’s me. You have some business with the Mystery-Solving Club?”  
  
“I’m actually interested in joining. I’ve just come by to check it out.”  
  
Lestrade looked even more bewildered. “Really? I mean, no offense, but crime doesn’t really seem to be your area…”  
  
“The more you know, right?” John laughed sheepishly, pushing down the twinge at hearing the word _crime_.  
  
“Well, our president’s out on a case at the moment, unless you want to come along to see him in action.” Lestrade finished stuffing his bag, zipping it and slinging the handle over his shoulder.  
  
John considered this for a moment with quiet excitement and finally looked back to Lestrade.  
  
“I’d be happy to.”

***

“You just got a boyfriend, then?”  
  
“...w-what?”  
  
When John and Lestrade arrived at the clubroom of the Chemistry Club, the supposed location of crime, some female voices along with a familiar baritone drifted within earshot. The faint scent of chemicals and cleaning products hit John as he peered inside and found Sherlock’s figure towering over a group of girls wearing lab coats. He recognized them as Jun Kazeno, Mikoto Iki, and Rin Onoya. They seemed to cower under Sherlock’s scrutiny.  
  
“You are wearing some light makeup and have done up your hair, and you keep glancing at your phone over there,” Sherlock continued despite the growing look of discomfort on Kazeno’s face.  
  
“Look,” Iki interjected, moving in front of Kazeno as if shielding her, “you’re analyzing the wrong thing. We asked you here to solve a mystery, so no need to invade others’ private lives.”  
  
Sherlock still had a bored expression on his face. “Then stop wasting time on pleasantries and get to the point.”  
  
Iki barely seemed to contain her irritation while Onoya stepped forward. “Certain lab equipment has been going missing. Although we mostly use this room for research rather than actual experiments, we are held accountable for the equipment here. The items are usually returned, but then they disappear again. The ones that go missing usually come from that shelf.” She pointed to a nearby counter with a short shelf holding an array of beakers, test tubes, and other devices.  
  
Sherlock moved to inspect the shelf, walking right past where Lestrade and John were awkwardly standing, while Onoya added, “We always lock up after leaving, yet the equipment keeps going missing.”  
  
Sherlock picked up a few beakers and measurement devices, turning them over in his hands. Without looking back, Sherlock asked, “Who is in charge of the keys to the clubroom?”  
  
“The president,” Kazeno said, still averting her gaze and fidgeting uncomfortably.  
  
Sherlock hummed in reply while strolling around the rest of the room.  
  
“Yeah, he’s always like that,” Lestrade sighed from beside John, who had never seen Sherlock outside of class besides yesterday’s incident. To be fair, it wasn’t very different from what he had already experienced. He glanced at the girls waiting near the entrance, Iki and Onoya trying to look reassuring as Kazeno frantically apologized for hiding her new relationship. John cringed in sympathy.  
  
“You mentioned that this club does not use the room for experiments, correct?”  
  
Everyone shifted their attention to Sherlock, who was now on the other end of the lab inspecting the inside of a cabinet.  
  
Onoya nodded hesitantly in confirmation. “Mhm.”  
  
“Well some of these chemicals have clearly been tampered with recently.” The group made their way to the cabinets, the girls with alarmed expressions.  
  
Sherlock motioned to the packaging of a few chemicals, which had evidently been opened, the contents smaller in quantity than the other substances.  
  
“No, we’ve never used those during club hours.” Iki frowned.  
  
“These specific chemicals, combined with the lab equipment on the shelf, are used to create ecstasy, an illegal drug.”  
  
“What?!”  
  
Lestrade moved closer to Sherlock. “Holmes, are you serious?”  
  
“Why would I not be?” Sherlock paused in thought for a few seconds. “I need more information on the club president. He is our only suspect at the moment.”  
  
Kazeno, her face a few shades paler, said, “He’s…not here a lot because he’s also part of the student council, the vice president. That’s where he is today…that is, a meeting.”  
  
“We also have another member missing, Kyouya Hinakawa,” Iki added. John recognized the name of the idolized basketball player, charming and popular with guys and girls alike.  
  
Sherlock barely acknowledged the girls as he swept out of the room. “Hurry, both of you,” he called on his way out.  
  
As John and Lestrade jogged to catch up with Sherlock’s swift, long strides, he stopped abruptly and whirled around to glower at John. “So, you want to join our club? Lestrade seems familiar with you— you’re on the same rugby team, but you’re also interested in medicine.”  
  
Sherlock’s deduction skills had never been directed at John before. Before he could reply, Sherlock turned back around and kept walking. “More importantly, we must take a short trip to the student council room.” John felt a pang of disappointment at being brushed off as he watched Sherlock grow smaller, telling himself that he already knew he wasn’t a very noticeable person to Sherlock to begin with.  
  
When they arrived, the meeting had already been dismissed as students had begun to leave the room. Sherlock waltzed in while Lestrade looked around apologetically. Sherlock strode right up to one of the students near the front of the room who was organizing some files.  
  
“You’re the president of the Chemistry Club, correct?”  
  
The boy looked up to skeptically meet Sherlock’s gaze. “Yes…why do you ask?”  
  
“Do you know about the missing lab equipment? I have some questions to ask you.”  
  
“I do, but I don’t see how that’s any of your concern.”  
  
“I’ve been assigned to this case by your fellow club members, so unless you regard them like the girlfriend you’re cheating on, I suggest you comply.”  
  
The president made a sour face but still followed the three of them to a secluded corner of the room. John silently prayed to any deities out in the universe to end the awaiting torture as quickly as possible.  
  
Sherlock wasted no time in hounding the guy. “I have been informed that you are in charge of the keys to the clubroom. Why, then, have you not made an active effort in finding the culprit if you are the most likely member to be blamed by teachers for missing equipment?”  
  
The president clenched his jaw and sighed sharply through his nose, glaring up at Sherlock. “Is there any point to this? I have no use for that equipment, and I have things to do. Besides, Hinakawa is as much of a suspect as me, since I lend him the keys sometimes.”  
  
Sherlock got closer to the president’s face, peering at him down his nose. “No interest in chemistry, then, seeing as you hand off presidential responsibility to an equally busy club member. You wouldn’t be the president of that club, or the vice president for that matter, if it weren’t for your strict parents’ insistence to excel at everything.” Sherlock sneered. “You don’t care about any of this, do you?”  
  
The president continued to glare challengingly at Sherlock. “That’s none of your business, freak.”  
  
Their staring match went on for an uncomfortable period of time before Sherlock straightened and twirled around to leave, not sparing a single glance toward John or even Lestrade yet again. The president’s shoulders slumped somewhat, but he threw one last glare at Lestrade and John, growled, “Quit staring,” and stalked off.  
  
After exchanging worried glances, Lestrade and John made to catch up with Sherlock but stopped when they noticed he was talking to some girls by the entrance.  
  
“Yes, Hinakawa-san is on the basketball team,” John heard one of the girls say. “But I’m sure you already knew that; how could anyone not know him?”  
  
The girls giggled until Sherlock said sharply, “Yes, but is that all you know about him? Any other extracurricular activities?”  
  
“No, not that we know of,” a girl said thoughtfully. “He makes perfect grades and is a star player on the basketball team. And he’s pretty cute,” she added, her cheeks flushing.  
  
“We don’t really know much about his family,” another girl said, “though I’ve seen him walking home once along a certain street.” She named the street, and Sherlock’s eyes widened almost imperceptibly.  
  
“I see.”  
  
“Oh, that’s him!” Outside the classroom windows, a fairly attractive, chestnut-haired boy walked through the hallway, smiling and chatting animatedly with the girls surrounding him. Sherlock followed him with his eyes until he turned a corner.  
  
Sherlock turned back to the girls. “Thanks for the information,” he nodded briefly before striding out the door, Lestrade and John following closely. They struggled to keep up as Sherlock glided ahead like a hawk.  
  
“The president seems like the druggie-type,” Lestrade said. Sherlock didn’t reply, his pace quickening as he glared straight ahead.  
“Have you solved it?” Lestrade tried again.  
  
“Hinakawa is our culprit.”  
  
“Eh? How do you know?” John gaped.  
  
“He has the means: the president’s keys. Also, abused at home. I spotted the poorly concealed bruises just now, and that street he frequents is a popular gathering place for drug dealers and those trying to evade watching eyes.”  
  
Lestrade swore under his breath while John continued to watch Sherlock’s back. John had never witnessed Sherlock like this, practically vibrating with exhilaration.  
  
“How are you going to prove it?”  
  
Sherlock whirled around, his eyes wild and sparkling. “We’ll catch him in the act, of course.”  
  
Lestrade paled a bit. “You don’t mean…”  
  
“I’ll need backup from you both, of course, but you will have to follow my lead. And Lestrade, I’ll need to ask a favor of you…”

***

A dusky color was blossoming in the cloud-peppered sky when John found himself behind a brick wall, scrunched up against Sherlock’s side and craning to peer beyond. A group of lanky men, most in hoodies or hiding their faces in some way, were just about in John’s line of sight.  
  
After watching them for ten minutes or so, John spotted a new member enter the gathering wearing a familiar school uniform under a baggy hoodie that hid all but a few locks of chestnut hair.  
  
Sherlock made no move even as Kyouya Hinakawa walked right up to the men and began conversing with them. John didn’t dare even breathe as he carefully observed Sherlock’s calculating gaze, waiting for some sort of signal. Hinakawa pulled out his schoolbag and began prying it open—  
  
It all happened so fast. One minute Sherlock was pressed against John’s side, the next he had Hinakawa in a chokehold. The hooded men seemed too shocked to react.  
  
Sherlock barely had the smug, nearly breathless word “Checkmate” out before Hinakawa wrestled his way out of Sherlock’s long arms, smoothly grabbing Sherlock from behind. Positioning a knife across his neck.  
  
John froze.  
  
“If you’re not willing to keep this a secret,” came that velvety voice that girls fawned over, “then you’ll have to die.”  
  
Sherlock’s throat visibly bobbed as he attempted to open his mouth, only to have the blade cut deeper into his throat.  
  
John sprung into action before a plan had even fully formulated.  
  
Instinct kicked in as he wrenched Hinakawa’s armed hand in an unnatural direction with one hand, twisting the knife out of Hinakawa’s grip, then slammed his other into the side of Hinakawa’s neck and swept his foot under Hinakawa’s legs, causing him to topple backwards.  
  
Sherlock, who thankfully lacked any fatal injuries, crumpled onto his knees behind John as he pointed the knife expertly at Hinakawa’s chest, unwavering. The half-conscious student fixed John with an unfocused stare.  
  
“If you hurt Sherlock,” John said quietly, a lethal calm settling over him, “then you will have to die.”  
  
Before anyone had the chance to react, approaching police sirens cut through the silence, and officers piled out of police cars. One officer, followed by Lestrade, lagged behind the others and stood near Sherlock.  
  
“You okay, son?” the officer asked Sherlock, his worried gaze catching on the slit of red on Sherlock’s neck. _Red_—John felt a wave of nausea.  
  
“Alive,” was Sherlock’s reply, and John came back to the moment, startled as Sherlock sprung back into standing position.  
  
“Well…that’s good, at least. Right, Dad?” Lestrade awkwardly smiled at the officer.  
  
“Of course,” Lestrade’s father said quickly before hurrying off to help the other police officers detain the criminals in question, Hinakawa included.  
  
Swimming in the haze of adrenaline, John didn’t notice Sherlock approach him until a baritone “Thank you” sounded near his ear.  
  
John, hiding his nervousness, managed to smile at Sherlock, who stood close enough that John could feel his radiating body warmth. Standing side by side in silence, they watched the hooded men being hauled off, some hoods slipping free to reveal pallid, stubble-clad faces.  
  
John took a sidelong glance at Sherlock to find a small smile on his face that made his eyes sparkle a little. Was this a second chance?  
  
John cleared his throat a few times in the long stretch of silence. “Do you think…” he began carefully, “…you’d consider my friendship offer?”  
  
Sherlock didn’t return his gaze, rather averting his eyes to the cracked pavement beneath their feet, his smile fading. He seemed to think a while. “I…cannot,” he slowly replied.  
  
John balled his fingers into fists. “Why?” he said thickly.  
  
Sherlock seemed to have trouble forming his next words.  
  
“You will not believe me when I say that…every week, I lose all memories of my friends.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Japanese Culture Notes_
> 
> **-san** : A Japanese honorific (which are equivalent to "Mr." or "Ms.") that is neutral and is the honorific used most commonly. It can be used for any gender and indicates a certain politeness to the addressed person.
> 
> First names are not used in this chapter because in Japan, you address others with their family name (last name) unless you are intimate or close friends with them.


	3. II

“What?”

Sherlock’s features were fixed in a stony expression, and he said nothing for a long stretch of time.

Suddenly, a strangled noise came out of him that vaguely resembled a laugh. “Just kidding,” he said in a shrill voice.

John watched him in confusion and bewilderment, not knowing what he had just witnessed as Sherlock seemed to compose himself.

“Okay…” he said finally. “So, what’s the real reason?”

“I just can’t,” Sherlock snapped. “Can you drop that subject?”

John flinched at the sudden outburst. He wasn’t sure if the excitement of the night had drained Sherlock and made him moody or if he had said something wrong. He averted his gaze to his feet.

“What I meant to say was, you have skills that would be a great asset to the Mystery-Solving Club,” Sherlock said somewhat hastily.

John turned his head back sharply to fix his eyes on Sherlock. Did that mean he _wasn’t_ an annoyance to Sherlock? As per usual, John could decipher none of Sherlock’s intentions or real feelings towards him. Perhaps that mystery kept him coming back despite Sherlock’s standoffish nature.

He gave John a serious look. “Would you join us again sometime, Watson?”

John frowned at the lack of honorific, but then again, it was so Sherlock. He shrugged and chuckled, “Why not?”

***

The next day, John showed up at the clubroom only to be stopped halfway through the doorway by Sherlock. “We have another client,” he said urgently. He slid past John into the hallway, and just as John moved aside for Lestrade to get past as well, Sherlock looked back.

“Aren’t you coming?”

John, who stood dazed at the entrance of the clubroom, shook himself a bit. “Oh, right.” And so, he was whisked away yet again on a dubious undertaking with Sherlock Holmes.

They entered a sunbathed classroom with a couple of students loitering by the blackboard, chairs already stacked and the floor spotless. A broom and dustpan were left abandoned against a wall.  
  
John had never met these two before, a lanky, glasses-clad boy with slightly longer jet-black hair and a girl with brown, curled hair and bright lip-gloss wearing an outrageously short skirt.  
  
The boy took a step behind the girl, adjusting his glasses, as Sherlock stepped toward her.  
  
The girl twirled a lock of hair around her finger and flashed a warm smile at him. “And you are Sherlock Holmes? Pleasure to meet you.”  
  
Sherlock cast a vaguely disapproving glance in the general direction of her skirt before meeting her gaze apathetically. “The pleasure is all yours. I presume you called me here because after-school duties have been repeatedly finished beforehand by an unknown student.”  
  
The girl seemed to ignore the first comment and stepped uncomfortably closer to Sherlock. “Wow, so you must be the real deal then.” She tilted her head ever-so-slightly and brushed some stray hairs delicately out of her face. “There’s something about the smart ones.”  
  
Before she had a chance to open her mouth again and drive John further up the wall, Sherlock stepped back. “It’s easy really,” he began in a clipped tone. “Judging by the pristine state of your clothes and appearance of having done no labor at all—lack of sweat, hair intact, the like—despite the cleaning supplies and the clean room, someone else did the work for you. You want to know who it is, or rather why they did it, hence my presence. Well, the person responsible did not expect anyone to go looking for them, let alone catch them, as they were doing a favor to the students on duty. Obviously cleaned beforehand in order to prevent those students from cleaning too thoroughly and finding something, a hidden object. If you examine the room, you can ascertain what that object is.”  
  
John stared in wonderment as Sherlock strode across the classroom to an abandoned corner. The furniture had been dusted thoroughly, but against a wall, there was a box that had been left discarded upside down between the shelves.  
  
Leaving Lestrade lingering by the door, John came up behind Sherlock, wondering why he was examining the box. Curiously, he noticed that a few holes had been pricked through the cardboard. John’s eyes widened in realization.  
  
“Exactly,” Sherlock said from beside him. John found Sherlock smiling at him in approval and felt a warm flutter in his gut.  
  
“What?” the boy’s voice sounded as he and the girl hurried over to where Sherlock and John stood bent over the box.  
  
“There can only be one reason why there are holes in this box,” Sherlock said, kneeling and gingerly lifting the cardboard. Underneath, beady eyes set in snowy feathers met their gazes. The bird didn’t attempt to fly away, however, as it lay helplessly on its right wing, which had been wrapped in a tattered blue handkerchief. “Someone decided to play the Good Samaritan and nurse an injured bird secretly in this classroom. How quaint.”  
  
Sherlock swiftly got to his feet before the students could say anything. “If you want to know who it is, just wait in the hallway near the classroom to see if any students go back in. If you really observe, which I doubt you have the capability of doing, you may notice bird food or even white feathers on their uniform.”  
  
“Brilliant,” John breathed, realizing too late that he had said it aloud. “I mean,” he sputtered, blushing furiously. “I—sorry.”  
  
Sherlock paused for a moment too long, his eyes wide and lips slightly parted. “It’s…fine,” he said quietly as he looked away. John followed, his face still warm, as Sherlock made to open the classroom doors. He paused before stepping into the hallway, however, and drawled without looking behind him, “I’m really not your type, you know, as I am not an _otaku_ and would not enjoy wiling hours away watching anime and playing computer games.”  
  
Lestrade choked behind John, and Sherlock, unfazed, strode out the door as if he hadn’t said anything. John risked a glance behind him to find horror contorting the girl’s beet-red face. The boy was peering curiously at her over his glasses.  
  
John jogged up to Sherlock, struggling to match his pace. “How did you know?”  
  
“Extra concealer under her eyes, most likely in attempt to hide the shadows from staying up late. Couldn’t be studying, that particular class is one of the academically lower levels, and she obviously put more time into her appearance than anything. And for someone desperately trying to appear like a normal girl, she was trying a little too hard.” Sherlock recited matter-of-factly, as if this should have been obvious.  
  
“I’m surprised you even know what an _otaku_ is.”  
  
“I usually delete useless information, but I hadn’t gotten the chance to get rid of this particularly annoying bit,” he grumbled.  
  
“The guy,” John mused aloud, “didn’t seem to mind the revelation, though.”  
  
“Well, that could most likely be due to the fact that he happens to be an _otaku_ as well.”  
  
“Oh!” They kept walking in silence until a thought came to John. “Wait…did you just play matchmaker between those two?” he smirked.  
  
“What a crude way of phrasing it.” Sherlock wrinkled his nose in distaste.  
  
“But I’m right, aren’t I?”  
  
“What matters is I solved the case. Their compatibility was just a coincidence,” he huffed, though his voice had a playful undertone.  
  
“Oh, you Cupid, you!” John laughed.  
  
Sherlock scowled, and Lestrade appeared beside him, a bit out of breath but grinning all the same. “It seems you’ve quickly adapted to Holmes’ speed-walking, if you could even call it that. More like speed-flying.”  
  
John found that despite his earlier toils, he had effortlessly matched Sherlock’s quick stride. Being able to joke like this with Sherlock had definitely given him a burst of energy. He was practically skipping with giddiness. “I suppose so,” he grinned back.  
  
Once they had reached the clubroom, Lestrade began packing his bag while Sherlock gazed thoughtfully out the gaping window that spread across nearly the entire back wall. John waited by the entrance as Lestrade and Sherlock made their way out of the room. After John had stepped through the doorway, Lestrade locked the door behind him, Sherlock sidling past the two.  
  
“Well,” Lestrade turned towards Sherlock and John after they had passed the shoe lockers and walked though the exit. “This is where I bid you two adieu. My house is that way,” he gestured to the right.  
  
“Good seeing you, Lestrade-san,” John smiled and waved politely as Lestrade turned his back to them and walked away.  
  
After a beat, John spoke up. “I’m heading to the station. I don’t know where you’re headed, but I have a ways to go.”  
  
“I can walk with you,” Sherlock said. “I mean, my house is in that direction.”  
  
John did an internal victory dance, wondering at his luck today. “Alright,” John said, trying to sound casual and not completely over the moon.  
  
The sunset had painted the streets in warm colors of orange and peach as they walked, and leaves skittering across the air signaled a fast-approaching autumn. As they strolled in comfortable silence, John glanced sidelong at Sherlock every so often to find the warm breeze gently ruffling his dark curls and his icy eyes seemingly glowing in the light.  
  
“Yesterday,” Sherlock said suddenly, startling John out of his reverie. He quickly averted his gaze to the road ahead of him. Ah yes, the incident yesterday. Sherlock had said something odd, but John had mostly forgotten about it when it seemed like Sherlock was finally warming up to him. What was it he had said, again…?  
  
“You nearly killed a person,” Sherlock continued slowly. “…for me.”  
  
“Yeah…” John trailed off. He’d acted so quickly, barely registering the knife clutched in his hands or the way Sherlock had looked at him when he’d pointed it. “Well, he wasn’t a very nice person, was he?”  
  
Sherlock seemed to think awhile before he cracked a smile. “No, I suppose he was not.”  
  
“And Jesus, he smelled awful! I don’t know why I never noticed his drug issues earlier.”  
  
“You and those girls, too, really must improve your deduction skills.”  
  
They shared a laugh for a few moments until John spotted the train station approaching. He tried to stifle the twinge of disappointment at having to part for the weekend as he slowed and studied the neighborhood surrounding them. “So, you live around here?”  
  
“Yes,” Sherlock replied shortly, his expression blank but his eyes softer than usual. As the train came racing into the station, John turned and began walking towards it.  
  
“Thank you again,” he heard Sherlock shout from behind him. He swiveled around to see Sherlock a distance away, his face flushed ever so slightly. He eventually met John’s gaze, and a warm smile broke out across his face.  
  
John felt his heart skip a beat at the sight. He smiled and waved, and when the train came to a stop, he turned away and stepped through the doors feeling stupidly happy and grinning uncontrollably.  
  
He’d been too far away to notice the unshed tears and the brokenness of Sherlock’s smile.

***

John came to school on Monday feeling like his life was finally getting somewhere. The mundanity was gone, and he had finally found something—or someone—to look forward to. He entered the classroom like usual, smiling and greeting his classmates cheerfully, but he just couldn’t get to Sherlock’s desk fast enough.  
  
He finally approached Sherlock from behind and tapped his shoulder. “Holmes-san, good morning!”  
  
Sherlock turned his head and met John with a cold and apathetic expression. “What do you want?”  
  
John felt his gut twist. Had he done something wrong? Did Sherlock not want them talking in public? Then Sherlock’s words came back to him suddenly.  
  
_You will not believe me when I say that…every week, I lose all memories of my friends._  
  
No, he hadn’t believed Sherlock then. It couldn’t possibly be true.  
  
“Just wanted to say hi…and I was wondering if you had any new cases,” John said hesitantly.  
  
All traces of the warmth from Friday were gone from those pale eyes. “Do I know you?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Japanese Culture Notes_
> 
> **otaku** : sometimes used to mean hardcore anime or manga fan. Originally comes from the Japanese word otaku meaning house. If you're an otaku it means you have no social life, love life, etc.
> 
> Using no honorific at all (called **yobisute**) is also an honorific — it's a "null honorific", and it means the speaker is addressing the person to whom he is speaking in an intimate and familiar manner usually restricted to family, spouses, or one's closest friends.


End file.
